


Filed Under Spice

by spicedrobot



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Drunk Kissing, Drunkenness, F/F, Gen, Light Angst, Light Petting, M/M, Mild Blood, One Big Happy Family, Partying, Slow Dancing, Spoilers, Tickling, Werewolf Alice "Daisy" Tonner, because i am bad letting people know, because martin is like that, canon typical jealousy, if a werewolf purred i suppose haha, just in general beware, lol
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:53:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24971110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spicedrobot/pseuds/spicedrobot
Summary: TMA microfills from prompts on tumblr! Rating will change for later chapters.Ch. 1: Basira spends a quiet moment with a wilder, furrier Daisy.Ch. 2: Jon dogsits werewolf Daisy on full moons.Ch. 3: Jon and Martin slowdance.
Relationships: Basira Hussain/Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist & Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 7
Kudos: 37





	1. Daisira, quiet moments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Tumblr Prompt:** Daisira healing wounds? Half beast Daisy a bonus but not necessary
> 
>  **Rating:** M, just to be safe  
>  **Tags:** light angst, half-beast Daisy

She doesn’t look like the Daisy she remembers. She’d been shorter before, thick and strong, close-cropped and clean shaven. Her gaze had been sharp, calculating, take no bullshit, see right through to your bones. The Hunt has honed her, hewn the raw material, exposed the creature that had always lingered beneath her skin. Daisy’s eyes are the gray of a smoking barrel, of the tireless pursuit, ruthless and eventual. Soft fuzz gives way to coarse hair, bitten nails now tapered points, sharpened tips that trace Basira’s skin, sending shivers so deep she doesn’t know if it’s only pleasure she feels at their insistence. 

Daisy is larger, sharper, harder than she’s ever been, but only on the surface. She yields. She sacrifices. She knows what she is, struggles with what she is in her own way. Daisy’s strength, the grit that she had wielded in the past had been Basira’s anchor. In rejection of it, she wonders if that had ever been Daisy at all. She is glad, somehow, that it ended up like this.

Daisy presses the space between Basira’s furrowed brows. She doesn’t speak, doesn’t have to. The hands at Basira’s neck and shoulder are broad, padded. When they kiss, her teeth are sharp, but they do not hurt her. Not unless she wants them to. They drag along her neck, mark her skin again and again and again. Her fingers fist into the unruly mop of Daisy’s hair, tease behind the fur-tipped ears that flatten or perk with her moods. Daisy’s learning to control her ticks, doesn’t like how they give her emotions away. Basira kisses those ears, kisses beneath them. Whatever Daisy is, whatever she becomes, she is hers. 

The world is new, and it is not the same world as before, but it is not the nightmare kingdom of the Eye. It is theirs. Daisy traces freshly laced scars, hesitates. She looks up at Basira, her breath warm against her stomach.

“I did this.” 

“I knew what I was getting into when I followed you.” She cups Daisy’s cheek, strokes along the fine hair that’s taken to growing there too. Daisy’s ears twitch, and Basira smiles. “I would do it again, you know.”

Daisy looks away. Her cheeks color, and it makes her freckles stand out.

“I know,” she whispers into Basira’s skin. 

She traces the scars with her lips instead, a soft kiss along each inch until she’s nearly at Basira’s hip and Basira squirms, her fingers tightening in Daisy’s hair.

“Did I—”

“No! Just ticklish.”

Daisy doesn’t quite smile, but there is something devious in her eyes.

“Don’t you dare—”

Basira spends the next minute twisting and thrashing in Daisy’s hold, trying and failing to keep her teasing claws from her flanks, the squeaks and raucous laughter nearly as enticing as the Hunt itself.

“Please, Daisy! I give up.”

“Oh, yeah?”

And then Daisy yelps, a purr rumbling through her chest when Basira cards between the fur lining her stomach. Her eyes widen in a way Basira’s never seen, and it makes her laugh.

“Daisy, you’re so cute.”

“S-shut up. No I’m not!”

The purrs don’t quite dwindle, especially when Basira finds a place that makes her ears perk and eyes soften. They end up laying side by side, Basira’s hand upon her stomach, Daisy’s arms thrown around her, holding her in a warm, loose grip. Not quite asleep, not quite awake. Soft, even breathing and the gentlest of purring, the quiet thump of Daisy’s tail against the comforter, gentle and content.

It is not the same as it was before, they are not the same. But it is better than Basira could’ve ever dreamed.


	2. Jon + Daisy, werewolfsitting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Tumblr Prompt:** How about an au where monsters just kinda exist and Jon dogsits werewolf Daisy on full moons?  
>   
>  **Rating:** T  
>  **Tags:** blood mention, background jonmartin and daisira

He doesn’t mind helping Daisy each month. Hell, he looks forward to it. It gives him an excuse to leave the Institute, and it’s not like Jon does much sleeping anymore. 

They leave well before dusk. Daisy drives. She turns on The Archers, and Jon makes a half-hearted fuss. They end up listening to it all the way to their destination. 

The night is cool, and the wind sings through the trees, so much different than the stale air and dust of the Archives. The sky is mostly clear, and Daisy shines in the light of the moon. She walks a little faster, eyes bright and narrow. The change is already upon her, her shoulders twitching and jumping like a current runs beneath her skin. 

Jon pulls a chair from the trunk of the car, sets up a little area and gets comfortable while Daisy shifts just out of sight. He pours the tea from the thermos that Martin had prepared for him, smiling at the note and the extra bundle of treats he had snuck into his pack.

_Made these today. Some extra for Daisy too. Have fun!_

Jon smiles wider and takes a sip of tea.

He doesn’t have to turn to know Daisy is behind him. A wet nose nudges at his neck, and he laughs, gives her head a soft pat, scratches her back while she stalks around him, scenting and snuffling.

“Alright, Daisy,” Jon half-laughs. “Go on, now.” 

She growls, not unpleasantly, then she howls, long and ringing and joyous, and disappears into the trees.

Jon tucks the sleeping bag tighter around his legs and leans back in his chair. The hazy green of his eyes pepper the air around him.

_Her heart beats. Her mind sings. She hears the little creatures of the forest, and they hear her. They flee, and she pursues, the promise of their taste almost as satisfying as the first coppery bite and the crunch of bone, viscera coating her teeth and tongue._

He reads the poetry book Martin had lent him. He still doesn’t care much for the stuff, but for Martin, he will try. Daisy’s consciousness is a quiet buzz in his mind as he silently mouths the words on the page. 

She doesn’t return until the first rays of dawn paint the horizon, but Jon is ready for her just the same. He hands her an old, folded blanket, careful to keep his eyes trained away from her nakedness. He could See, he could Know, she doesn’t care, but it’s the polite thing to do.

“Feeling better?” He says as she washes her face with the dampened cloth Jon hands her, the fabric staining quickly.

“Mhm.”

Her hair is tousled, and her teeth aren’t quite blunt enough; her eyes are too vibrant, pupils vertical and predatory. Yet, by the time they see the city in the distance, Daisy passes for a human well enough.

She drops Jon off at Martin’s apartment.

“Don’t forget we’re having you over for dinner tomorrow night.”

“Martin’s cooking, I hope.”

“Ha ha,” Jon says dryly. “Say hi to Basira for me.”

“Will do. Now get out of here.” 

Jon rolls his eyes and smiles, stepping onto the curb. He waves as she drives off, and Daisy smiles as she watches him in the rear view mirror.


	3. JonMartin, slowdancing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Tumblr Prompt:** Slowdancing?
> 
>  **Rating:** T  
>  **Tags:** drinking, drunk kisses, jonmartin w/ other background pairings, AU where everything is ok and nothing hurtS!!

Jon’s never been much for parties, and he tends to avoid them when he can. Only this party is in his apartment with all his friends, most of them much too drunk. The music is loud, and he’s sure he’ll hear about it from the neighbors at some point, but it’s the weekend and not that late, so he doesn’t let himself worry about it.

He’s had a drink or two, feeling warm and soft and pleasantly tipsy. He surveys the room from his favorite reading chair, not minding in the least he’s doing more watching than engaging.

 _Old habits_ , he thinks wistfully.

Basira and Daisy are in front of the food table, Daisy scarfing down wings while Basira tries to hold back her smile. Tim’s leaned into Gerry, half-flirting, half-way too drunk, and Sasha pulls them both in for a selfie while they laugh loudly at nothing at all. Melanie sits with Georgie, enraptured in a deep discussion about something Jon can’t hear over the music, Melanie wildly gesturing, her drink precariously close to spilling. Michael and Helen dance, long-limbed and wild looking, in the middle of the living room to whatever esoteric club mix that seems to be all the rage these days. Neither seem to have an ounce of self-consciousness.

Martin enters the room with another platter of food, replacing the plate of wings that Daisy had claimed. The song ends, and Michael and Helen both grimace at the next track: soft and slow, some power ballad sell out song that released more than a decade ago. It seems like the distortions are about to raise a stink, but Jon’s view is blocked by a cream sweater and an extended hand.

He blinks up at Martin, and his boyfriend smiles at him, gentle and genuine. He’s flushed, though Jon’s not sure if it’s booze or sheepishness.

“M-may I have this dance?”

Jon’s mouth goes dry, and Tim whistles while his face heats. Sasha pushes him.

“I uh, I don’t know how,” Jon mumbles.

“Neither do I. Lots of swaying, I think. Let’s try?”

Jon feels the weight of several eyes, but Martin is the only one he sees.

“Sure,” he says, just shy of breathless. Jon takes Martin’s hand. It’s warm and soft and wonderfully comforting.

The room blurs slightly when he stands. Maybe Jon’s a bit drunker than he first thought, but Martin’s grip steadies him, and he manages to make it to the middle of the living room.

A hand at the small of his back. Another at his shoulder. Martin’s smile is contagious.

“Should I do the same, or…?”

“Yeah, that’s probably good—can you all stop staring? It’s awkward.”

“Oh, we just can’t get enough of you love birds,” chirps Helen, managing to snatch Sasha from Tim’s grip. “C’mon, let’s cut a rug.”

“Cut a rug to a ballad?” Sasha snorts.

“You know what I mean.”

Their friends begin to pair up around them, some in twos and threes. Martin doesn’t give him a chance to be self-conscious about it. He moves Jon to one side, then the other, and Jon follows his rhythm. It really is not much more than swaying, but Jon finds he doesn’t mind. Martin is warm, and the quiet notes of the song are much preferred to a drum line and techno beat. Martin’s hand presses him close, a little giggle in the back of his throat making Jon’s heart patter.

“You’re a natural.”

Jon laughs a little louder than he means. What they’re doing can barely be considered skilled, but he can’t stop smiling.

“Liar.”

So close, he can smell Martin, faintly herbal, spiced aftershave, warm and familiar. Jon rests his head on his shoulder. His heart is beating fast, and Jon’s grip tightens. It feel so perfect. The music doesn’t matter. The attention doesn’t matter. Martin laughs, shy but so pleased, his breath ruffling his hair.

Jon tips his head back, and Martin kisses him, soft and chaste.

“Get a room!”

“This is their room. One of many, in fact!”

Martin flips them off and kisses Jon again. Laughter and swears resound.

They dance through the song. They dance the next one too until Michael _amends_ the music queue. Jon kisses Martin’s knuckles as he retreats, but there’s a light touch between his shoulder blades.

“Ah, ah, Archivist. Dance with me?”

Gerry grins roguishly, and Jon feels rather than sees Martin’s glare.

“As a friend. A friend!”

“Better be,” Martin grumbles.

Jon kisses Martin once more for good measure.

They stay up too late. They drink too much. They are way too loud. But when Jon wakes the next morning and rouses all his friends with the bubbling of the percolator, he doesn’t think there’s another place he’d rather be.


End file.
